Butterfly
by Cloud Watcher332
Summary: Butterflies can induce a variety of emotions; whether they be awe, sadness, or simple curiosity, they never fail to amaze...and enrage.
1. The Original

He stared up at the ethereal light of a midsummer's night misplaced, the bitterly soft winds of the dead of winter making the butterflies flutter. Sky bound, they will never understand the sheer grief and agony in his eyes, the pain that they and everything else that a child's joy could conceive cause all hours of the day; whether it be in the mortal realm of conscious thought, or the small reprieve beyond the solid barrier into dreams and death, they always cause him pain. One, free from his world, came down to meet his gaze, its ocean blue wings a-flutter, glittering and surreal in its fragile beauty.

Sapphire born from the aquatic depths of purity and good met with the furious ruby of flames and hatred, and he let a soft sound escape his lips.

Turning away, he tried to stop the steady flow of moans and whimpers breaking through the steel-barricaded floodgates of his psyche, but already cracked under pressure, and withered from continuous rage, they were soon to give out. To what, he feared, would come from this, the catalyst being a mere butterfly, a fae of our world? Legs gained velocity and direction, away from the flitter-flutter of the innocently malicious into the navy-hued forest that had given root all around his forsaken haven. But they followed in carefree pursuit, halfhearted in their attempts to make him break down and sob. He needed to do so, to finally rise and let go, but he'd be damned for all eternity and a year afterwards before such an event. Air hummed, wind flew, and light bend and warped, he found himself farther and father from his starting point, everything an alien world of cerulean and darkness. So beautiful, and so painful to bear.

He tried to go faster, to escape the pain-such pain, such agony that he'd never wish upon the ugliest spawn of his most loathed enemy-to escape the madness. But the iridescent murderers of fairy tales and wishes were everywhere, at every corner, nook, and cranny; no getting away from this beautiful prison, this serene torture chamber, this heavenly hell.

Falling to his knees the earth met the horizon and his point of view was filled to everlasting brim with wings of glass and rice paper, cutting into his soul like stainless blood gushed from his body, mind, and soul, shriveled and burning in black flames; encased in ebony, there was no savior to break through to the emotions he had yet to display. Wrapping arms around his feeble legs, once so strong yet now useless, he inhaled the horrid stench of clean, fresh air, scented with platonic love. He had no room for such play; mania drummed to his frantic heartbeat, and he screamed to the heavens and beyond as his battered floodgates crumbled and crashed to the wordless flood, "MARIA!!!"

The butterflies evaporated, letting him sob and shriek in private solitude, all light other than the far side of the spectrum muted in his bloodcurdling grief. It was the dangerous hour in the sky, a blue so commonly seen when life slips away from objects created by man, running on electric impulse, showing artificial light; the Blue Hour in all its splendid horror. Picking himself up, he watched in disconnected sublime as a liquid mirror surrounded his shaking limbs, growing as ripples cooled the body down into nothingness. "Maria..." Shadow's voice was soft as before, but it was filled with a new emotion, the mixture of a thousand different feelings: grief, agony, rage, madness, love.

"...Shadow."

He swiftly turned towards the sound, the sound of angels confessing their love of the holy light shining down upon stormy seas, the sound of bells and chimes and song and joy, the sound of innocence, ripped away by cruel human nature. To his horror it was another butterfly joined by countless dozens, all mocking him; they did not care for this creature of the night, for they were free from his world. The mirror reflection emotions and shades of blue grew swiftly in response, his wails echoing in the alien forest.

"Shadow...I love you..."

--

Time had no meaning here, in this hellhole created by cherubs and nymphs, for his body did not need to sleep and fatigue; no, this was a nightmare, he was sure of. Nothing else could compare...except his sweetest of dreams, which had defected, abandoned him, traitorous and faithless to the end. Maria was her name which he spoke, Maria of the golden hair, ocean eyes, and melodious laugh, her soul as pure and as innocent as a meek butterfly taking flight in the transparent winds, free and perfect.

...he hated her. Loathed her very existence; if he had the chance, he would've shot her herself, along with every other god-forsaken butterfly in all realms of reality, ripping away its wings, taking away everything that could ever cause him so much despair and scars, scars that will burn on in echoes until they're nullified by the absolute barrier of death.

...he loved her. Being here, surrounded by her sororities of ethereal blue, was the closest place to heaven that he could find in this place called home; her soul now belonged to the sweet, suculent air and loose in freedom and eternal bliss, a fitting end to a mortal faerie, his angel in flesh and blood.

Shadow gazed up in expectance-this pain, this despair, it hurt in words undefined-of another onslaught of mockery and agony, but sharply inhaled, deeply believing in hallucinations bright on in madness. he butterflies had given way to his love shrouded in blue and mystery, the heavenly scent of ethos and storge emanating from her delicate smile, her delicate skin, smooth as blue silk. A hand, wrapped in a glaze of sapphires, drifted across his tear-streaked face, sending shock waves of delicious cold pain through his ravaged system. "Shadow...my Shadow..."

No words came from his lips-afraid, too afraid-but his eyes spoke nothing but the truth, his hands twitching upwards to touch her china-blue face, her coal black eyes, her glass smile...two became one, arms holding each other close, sweet-hued butterflies in a flurry of azure and obsidian around the metamorphosing creature. He and she, she and he; so natural, so right. Heaven and hell in a bitterly sweet exchange of blood, tears, and laughter, grief and euphoria hand in and as they strolled down the path into manic love. "Maria...I love you."

And like that she was gone, the butterflies exploded and falling an eternity below, translucent, then transparent, then nothing. Shadow fell with them, on his back, clear and calm eyes watching the blue sky expand into space. The color of innocent evil, the color of his heart the color of her eyes half a century ago, her skin in this world. Fragile and as brutal as the wing of a butterfly life and love are, he decided. Bound to no earthly object and floating in a sea of bliss, they laugh and live and love, but they lie, they never repent for the unspeakable truths they bear down in delicate blows and slashes; butterflies are the epitome of innocence and good, and the most evil creations to ever grace the earth.


	2. The Revision

To stare up at a midsummer's night misplaced in the dead of winter is something Shadow was not used to taking part in. Neither was allowing the harsh, bitter wind to flow freely around his body; he was much more accustomed to running, flowing, showing the wind personally just exactly what it meant to be 'fast'. But his mind was on a faraway planet circling a distant star, orphaned and alone with only the vacuum of space as comfort.

Why? There was a tiny little butterfly hovering in that unannounced sky, mere inches from his face. Sapphire born from the aquatic depths of sweetness and innocence met with the furious ruby of power and intensity, and his mind was captured in an instant.

Abandoning any other trail of though, he followed the now-mobile creature with a child's intent and nature, completely hooked on catching it, making it his own, or at least being able to feel its glittering cerulean wing; they looked like gems cut into paper-thin sheets of translucent glass, and if they were to break apart in his hands, hands used to the tough metals of steel and gunmetal, perhaps it would recall his common sense. Picking up speed, he tracked the dancing insect through an increasingly alien forest, not even caring how he got there, the object of interest far too important to ignore. Blood red flames encased in circular orbs traced a swirling pattern in an increasingly bright heavens, the thin outline defining its beautiful wings more and more defined. Twisting ebony curling from the force of gravity did little work in slowing him down-it did nothing at all to the speed demon; just provided an insignificant obstacle between him and the flitter-flutter of a lapis lazuli fairy just outside of his reach. Faster and faster his pace picks up, but the mere butterfly is a master in the arts of evasion, and as the white of his gloved hand encircled around it, the faint black outline and the hypnotic glittering of its wings always managed to be just two inches away. Out of his reach, out of his influence...

His feet were a blur, and a faint whistling from the hateful wind echoed in his ears, but by some feat of nature the butterfly was even faster, not even frantic as it flowed effortlessly through the navy-hued forest and arm's length from intensely burning carmine eyes, as if mocking him for being too bulky for flight, too heavy, and too slow.

Too slow, too slow...now new thoughts were in his ravaged mind, and they were fueled by rage from an unknown source deep within his heart, mind, and soul. Movements streamlined and deadly, his hand was now a claw, the intent for destruction programmed into his brain at birth leaking into his fanatic pursuit of the gem-like brilliance of a butterfly; hours before insignifigant, but now more important than the world. The earth itself conspired with the dancing creature in the stunningly blue sky, not giving the hedgehog enough lift to finally end the misplaced madness and return to the ral world. But he didn't really care how long it went, only for the prize for his mindless effort. Arm raised, eyes forever set upwards, Shadow _was_ known to obsess over ideals, but hardly to this extent. Jewels of a sapphire tone played with the air like a fragile paper kite lined with steel, able to bend the bloodthirsty wind with its pure innocence and become sky borne, unbound to any earthly companion. The soles of his shoes never touched the unforgiving earth, his breath never failed to inhale the bitter atmosphere into his lungs, and his skin held up against the furious whips slashed by the murderous trees, but the sole goodness to be found in this unnatural wilderness was _the only thing that he couldn't grasp in finality_, and it was driving him insane.

With a rumbling growl surging up from within his psyche he picked up the pace, turning vivacissimo to prestissimo in a fatal increase, unknowingly adding a new element to the playing field. Had his mind not been captured by this miniature nymph he would've understood, but he was a man running on obsession and rage-the two fundamentals that had taken its stronghold when his life was destroyed-and there was no reason to be found here. And as he yelled out in fury he extended his arm once more to capture the butterfly, lifted away from the earth into the dangerous splendour of the Blue Hour, fingers centimeters from touching the ethereal wings...and fell.

The velocity of his conquest sent him hurtling through the surprising hatred and bitterness of the alien forest, images of black and blue the only colors available to the dimming red suns once so intense and power-laden. Finally coming to a heap in the middle of this cold blue hell surrounded by hunched raven plant life, his mind crashed back to earth into its container, and he let out a startled shriek.

Was he chasing butterflies in a fit of temporary insanity, or rather an ideal that was lost long ago?

Angel blue from the bewitching hour illuminated his chaotic thoughts with a lovely twist of cyanide, and he opened blank eyes to acknowledge that the butterfly was still there twirling and dancing just out of his reach, wings of paper and glass shattering his obsession like that of the strongest weapons ever invented. It ripped and burned its way into the powerhouse of his soul, and for a split second, it was still, wings held out in innocent grace, gazing down like a guardian spirit keeping its wayward child away from danger. He treasured that one snapshot out of the disorientating view, kept it to memory...for the sparkling wings of the gem-encased butterfly was exactly the shades to be found in his best friend's eyes.

Memories rushed in but he didn't put up a fight, didn't even moved, memorised by the beauty to be found in effortless grace and sweetness, like a child witnessing the first Christmas star. His common sense and rationality added undertones of doubt to this image-a hallucination, this entire episode a dream?-but like the blue-eyed blonde floating high in space it existed in its own world, away from the pain and suffering others brought onto themselves. Scarlet eyes lazily traced the childlike insect through the heavenly blue skies, and the odd sense of grief brought on by those reminiscent of that which was lost formed a soft, sad smile on his face.

...he hated it. Loathed it's very existence to the highest levels that one soul can burn in hatred; if he had the chance and the power he would crush the damn thing in his hands and smear its lifeblood on the bitter harshness of this world, along with ever other god-forsaken butterfly to be found flying in the air.

...he loved it. It was so beautiful, floating gems in the sky held together by simple innocence, only wanting to play and dance and see what this world had to offer; so much like the angel lost in madness, and he knew that if she were alive today, she would've cherished it with ever fiber in her being.

A gloved hand gently rose in the air, a childlike need to finally touch its glass-like surface rising in his heart like helium, only suspended in the air by that want, no obsession or rage tainting its endeavor. And the butterfly, so elusive and mocking before, met the tips of his fingers with a shuddering hover. It was as fragile as his mind imagined, but there was a steel beneath that satin, the willpower of the pure able to withstand and survive anything, even a creature so shrouded in manic power that it sometimes lost itself in the making. Its glittering wings covered in glassy gems slowly descended along with his arm, coming to rest in the cup of two palms held together. Sitting up Shadow watched it illuminate the coarse fabric of his gloves with dazed awe, keeping it safe from the sneering winds howling through the trees. Lifting his hands up he let it fly away, feeling that odd sense of grief and other forms of sorrow and rage go along with it.

Watching it melt into the indescribable blue heavens he supported his weight and burden on his arms, exhaling softly as the cold, dead wind deceased in intensity until it was barely there. Chasing butterflies was child's play, an infantile sport, symbolising chasing dreams into sweet, sweet oblivion until they come into reality...or chasing ideals once thought lost to this world until one comes to terms that it was never lost in the first place.


End file.
